Assignment
by FrostFlamer
Summary: The war is over. She's meeting Draco Malfoy in a Muggle coffee shop everyday for brunch. There's a voice in her head. Probably not what you were expecting. Not graphic, but rated M for implied prostitution.


**Um, yeah. This was a plot bunny that had been bothering me for a while, so I thought, 'Why not?'**

**Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling. Therefore I do not own Harry Potter.  
**

~O~

I'm not sure why the fuck I'm doing this. Really, this goes against what few principles I possess.

(And yet, you can't resist his call.)

Fuck hot chocolate. I'm going home.

(No, you're not.)

Good point. I'll head for the bar instead.

(Really?)

No, I'll just wait here like a fucking damsel in distress, because goddammit I'm addicted to him. Bastard.

(But you like him.)

I like his hair, and that shampoo he uses on weekdays. Weekends I don't like so much, but that's probably because he reeks of booze and sex and cheap perfume on weekends.

(It's the other way round for you, only you reek of cheap cologne and perfume.)

I like his hair, too, actually, and his company. If he decided to stop using his weekday shampoo, I might still stick around.

(Might?)

Alright, maybe I will. But goddammit, I will leave if I have to wait much longer.

(Mm, you have one of your special clients today.)

Three, actually. Wanted to try fucking me as a group.

(How would he feel about that?)

He doesn't need to know. Besides, he does the same thing on weekends, he has no right to judge me for doing it on weekdays.

(Does it matter if he knows?)

No, it doesn't. I have nothing to be ashamed of; this is my career, the only reason I'm not flat broke.

(Because you whore yourself out.)

I wouldn't need to do it if my stupid fucking sister hadn't decided to blow all of our inheritance on booze and gambling and sex. Why do you care anyways?

(What do you mean?)

You've been in my mind for a ridiculously long time. Why choose now to bring it up?

(You wanted to talk to someone.)

That's not an answer. Also, who the fuck are you?

(I can not tell you who I am.)

Seriously, you've been in my head for nearly three years, since the war ended. Who are you?

(Someone who has died and given an assignment.)

So, you're some ghost person? In my head?

(...Essentially, yes.)

If I guess correctly, will you tell me? I have the time to spare, since apparently he's late.

(If you guess correctly.)

Alright. Can I ask yes or no questions?

(...Yes.)

Are you a wizard? No, wait-are you magical?

(Yes.)

Hmm... Are you a Slytherin?

(No.)

Urgh... Are you a Gryffindor?

(Yes.)

I can feel you smirking. At any point of your Hogwarts years, did you attend at the same time at me?

(Yes.)

You're enjoying this. I can tell.

(Why yes, yes I am.)

Alright... Are you a Weasley?

(Why do you ask that?)

I'm fairly sure that Weasleys make up approximately a quarter of Gryffindor house. Anyways, you're avoiding the question.

(...Yes.)

Huh. Why do you care about me?

(That's not a yes or no question.)

No, it isn't. I'm just curious.

(I told you, you're my assignment.)

That's it? You didn't choose me or anything?

(No.)

There goes that theory. In that case, all I need to do is figure out which Weasel-

(Weasley, please.)

Fine, which Weasley died in the battle of Hogwarts. It was the dragon Weasel, I think.

(I'm going to totally ignore that you called us Weasles again. You mean Charlie?)

Is that his name? I was so sure that it was Chad.

(I'm not him-Charlie's alive, as far as I know.)

I know you're not Keeper Weasel or the Weaslette, since I see them with Potter and Beaver-Face all the time. There's the one that married Delacour, but I saw him at St. Mungo's yesterday.

(Why?)

I don't know. Are you snobby Weasel?

(Snobby Weasel?)

Peacock something-or-other. He was Head Boy.

(Oh, Percy.)

Percy? We just called him Peacock in Slytherin.

(...That nickname is surprisingly fitting.)

Whatever. I got She-Weasel, Sidekick, Peacock, Dragon, and Veela-who's left?

(I'm rather insulted you don't remember.)

Wait a second... You're one of the twins, aren't you?

(Very good, yes I am.)

Alright... It was...

(You honestly don't remember?)

Honestly, you were years ahead of me. Was I supposed to?

(The whole Umbridge incident?)

...Okay, I remember that. You're Gerald or Ferdinand.

(...Not quite.)

Which one are you? Just tell me the first letter.

(My name starts with F.)

Ferdinand? Frederick?

(That last one!)

Frederick? Your name is Frederick?

(Uh, not exactly.)

Freddy? Fred?

(Yes!)

Fred. Fred Weasley.

(Pleased to meet you too.)

Alright. So why are you in my head?

(When you die, you have to complete a task before you cross over.)

Hold on, can't you stay if you have Unfinished Business?

(No, it doesn't work quite like that, either. You have to complete a task to stay or cross over. Otherwise you're stuck in the In Between.)

Where are you now?

(In Between.)

What's it like there?

(Bland.)

Bland?

(There's really no other way to describe it. It's colorless, shapeless, and the only thing substantial here are the souls.)

Bland.

(Yeah.)

So what's your assignment? I mean, it must be hard, otherwise you wouldn't have been stuck in my head for three years.

(Actually, most of us take about five years to finish our tasks.)

Seriously? That's a long time.

(Well, we're dead already. It's not as if we have no time to spare.)

Point. But really, what is your assignment?

(I can't tell you.)

Why not?

(Because.)

Because what?

(Because nothing.)

But-oh, look, he's finally shown up!

(Ferret?)

Yes, Ferret.

~O~

"Hey, Draco."

"Hey." he replies, slumping into the booth.

I send a wink to Tony, the guy who's always here at this time on Thursdays, and he hurries to fill our order. Pretty soon, my hot chocolate is set in front of me and Draco has his fucking coffee in his hand. I send it a dirty look.

"How was today?" I ask finally.

He groans, cradling his head in his arms. "Fucking awful. You know the new secretary I hired, Romilda something-or-other? Apparently she refuses to work with Blaise or Theo, so I have to figure out if it's Millicent or Marietta I'm switching her for. I'm thinking Millicent, because I'm fairly sure that Romilda won't have a problem working for Padma."

"Padma might object," I point out.

He glares balefully at me. "Why do you think I haven't made the switch yet? Padma threatened to quit if I saddled her with Vane, but I owe Vane's father a favor, so I can't fire her either."

"There's only you and Granger left, right? Why not put her with one of you?"

Draco gives me a disbelieving look. "Granger would probably end up pitching Vane out her office window."

"And you?"

"Accidental Avada Kedavra. And not on myself, mind you."

"Is that even possible?" I'm curious to know.

"What is, an accidental Avada?"

I pause. "Well, that too, but Avada-ing yourself."

Draco ponders the idea carefully. "Probably. I mean, no one's been documented ever trying, so there's no proof it wouldn't."

"Hmm."

We sit in silence for a little longer, and then finally, I stand up. A little regretfully, I tell him, "I have clients today. Group."

He gives me a sad look, along with something I can't quite identify. "Wait!" He stops, as if working up his courage. "Would you..."

"Yes..." I prompt.

"Would you come to dinner with me on Saturday?" He blurts out, looking a far cry from the refined Malfoy facade he puts on in wizarding public.

I'm about to say no, but a little voice in me says otherwise. (Yes! Yes! YES! Say yes!)

"Okay. What time?"

He looks momentarily taken aback, as if he hadn't expected me to say yes. he recovers quickly. "Uh, six. I'll pick you up."

I flash him a quick smile. "Okay. See you tomorrow, Draco."

"See you tomorrow." he returns faintly, still looking dazed.

~O~

Far above, Fred Weasley jumps and cheers. "Yes! I can't believe I'm saying this, but, go Malfoy!"

A sudden flash of light envelopes him and he disappears from the In-Between. He stumbles into existence in something that looks like the Great Hall at Hogwarts. Albus Dumbledore is there, waiting for him.

"Well done, Mister Weasley," he says, eyes twinkling behind his glasses.

"Well done, Malfoy," I mutter to myself. "It's nice watching you finally work up the guts to ask Astoria out. Now all you need to do is quit the whole sex with strangers thing, boost your company, give Hermione a raise, fire Romilda Vane, get Astoria to stop the sex with strangers thing, and then work up enough courage to ask her to marry you. And make sure your marriage contract with Parkinson isn't still binding. Because after all that work getting you and Astoria together, it would really suck if you just died of spontaneous combustion while you marry her."

And with that, he passed into Heaven.

~O~

A few days later, George Weasley is surprised to find Astoria Greengrass, of all people, wanting to talk to him.

"Uh... hi?" he says.

"Gerald, right?" she asks hesitantly.

He shakes his head. "No, my name is George. My twin's name was-"

"Fred, I know. He was in my head since the war ended."

George looks very confused. Astoria tells him, "You might want to sit down. It's kind of a long story."

And so George closed up shop, shooed away Verity for the day, and sat in the back storeroom to listen to Astoria Greengrass tell him about his brother's voice in her head.

And yes, that sentence was as weird as it sounded.

~O~

So... how do you like it? Hate it? Love it? Review!


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